It has been a long few weeks. Incredibly long. So long that they extend beyond a reasonable acceptance of the flow of time. I’m just here, witnessing it all. Watching everything not make sense because of dramatic application. Definitely not anything to do with anything else. At all. Ever. Yep.

But it has been a long few weeks, and for the first time in a while I slept almost eight hours last night, and it was glorious. It was fantastic. I still feel tired, but I feel better. Not as good as I could, but good enough. Well enough to get through the day, and that’s all I need right now. Just enough to get through the day. To power on. To survive. To find where everything lies. To take stock of all the laziness I have allowed, and all the fatigue I have refused to do much about.

It takes time to recover from lack of sleep. It takes a lot of time to pay off that debt, and you never might. And right now, my debt is quite large.

I’ve talked about lack of sleep here for a long time, and I’ve not been sleeping for a long time. I’ve not been sleeping for far too long. Not enough sleep consistently, and I’m tired of it. It doesn’t stress me out, but I feel it, and I feel worn down. I need more sleep, and I need to allow myself more sleep. I need to allow myself the rest I need.

More people need to sleep more, really. Too many of us have probably been operating on not enough sleep for years and maybe even decades, and it’s a really bad way to be, and I get it. I get why it happens, and oftentimes the reasons for lack of sleep are beyond our control. However, at least in my case (and I’m sure plenty of others), it is more often due to my own procrastination rather than anything else. And I need to work on that, and I am.

So for now I am tired. I am worn out. I need rest and, even though I slept well enough last night, it wasn’t well enough. I need more sleep. I need to sleep more. I need to make sure my body is getting the recovery it needs. I usually am not, and that’s an issue. It’s something I can work on, and it’s something I will work on, but right now I can’t as I’m needed here, at my desk, working away, chiselling at requests for work and working toward chiselling away at requests. I am a stonemason, or something. A sculptor.

I am a sculptor. A sculptor of crap.

See I had a point with this and I meandered away from it without really realising until it was too late, and now I’m here, standing among my mess of words. This is how it all goes.  Everything goes to crap, and that’s what I sculpt best.

The time it took to write five-hundred words: 06:03:30

Started strong, got weaker toward the end.

Written at home.